census
reports. Yet I dare say it has the effrontery to put you down in the
tax-lists; it even puts me down--me, an humble worker in the vineyard,
with both hands set to the plough. And if I don't pay up it sells
me out. A very naughty world, indeed! I dare say," Mr. Jukesbury
observed, raising his eyes--not toward heaven, but toward the Eagle,
"that its conduct, as the poet says, creates considerable distress
among the angels. I don't know. I am not acquainted with many angels.
My wife was an angel, but she is now a lifeless form. She has been for
five years. I erected a tomb to her at considerable personal expense,
but I don't begrudge it--no, I don't begrudge it, Miss Hugonin. She
was very hard to live with. But she was an angel, and angels are rare.
Miss Hugonin," said Petheridge Jukesbury, with emphasis, "_you_ are an
angel."

"Oh, dear, _dear!_" said Margaret, to herself; "I do wish I'd gone to
bed directly after dinner!"

Above them the Eagle brooded.

"Surely," he breathed, "you must know what I have so long wanted to
tell you--"

"No," said Margaret, "and I don't want to know, please. You make me
awfully tired, and I don't care for you in the _least_. Now, you let
go my hand--let go at once!"

He detained her. "You are an angel," he insisted--"an angel with a
large property. I love you, Margaret! Be mine!--be my blushing bride,
I entreat you! Your property is far too large for an angel to look
after. You need a man of affairs. I am a man of affairs. I am
forty-five, and have no bad habits. My press-notices are, as a rule,
favourable, my eloquence is accounted considerable, and my dearest
aspiration is that you will comfort my declining years. I might add
that I adore you, but I think I mentioned that before. Margaret, will
you be my blushing bride?"

"No!" said Miss Hugonin emphatically. "No, you tipsy old beast--no!"

There was a rustle of skirts. The door slammed, and the philanthropist
was left alone on the terrace.

XI

In the living-hall Margaret came upon Hugh Van Orden, who was
searching in one of the alcoves for a piece of music that Adele
Haggage wanted and had misplaced.

The boy greeted her miserably.

"Miss Hugonin," he lamented, "you're awfully hard on me."

"I am sorry," said Margaret, "that you consider me discourteous to a
guest in my own house." Oh, I grant you Margaret was in a temper now.

"It isn't that," he protested; "but I never see you alone. And I've
had something